


How the Wolf Delights in His Rabbit

by anubislover



Category: Love Nikki Dress Up Queen
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Canon Compliant, Dubcon Kissing, Ethical Dilemmas, F/M, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Manipulative Relationship, Morality, Possessive Behavior, Post-Chapter 15, Prisoner of War, Spoilers, Yvette struggles to find her strength, mild blood kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-14 02:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16031159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anubislover/pseuds/anubislover
Summary: In Nidhogg's tent, a little rabbit waits, ensnared but still struggling. The wolf wonders why he keeps her there, and finds his prey is much more fun to play with when she's willing to fight back.





	How the Wolf Delights in His Rabbit

A bitter wind cut through the League Till’s campsite, but Colonel Nidhogg barely even noticed. He was used to the cold, to the harshness of the North, and he was aware there were even whispers amongst the troops that ice water ran through his veins and he was incapable of feeling anything.

That wasn’t true, of course. He felt the slight weight of the bag in his hand, the brush of his cape’s fur collar against his cheek, and the dull slap of his sword against his thigh. He felt the stares of his troops as he passed, particularly Ozeca’s, as she’d been the most vocal in her questions about the pet he kept in his quarters. He certainly felt annoyance that the soldiers wasted their time gossiping.

As for cold and pain, they were simply such familiar companions they weren’t worth acknowledging anymore.

Neither were the soldiers’ comments. A wolf did not concern himself with the opinions of the sheep. If their silly rumors affected the discipline of the army, he’d deal with them, but he had a far more interesting engagement to attend to.

Strolling purposefully into his tent, he let the corners of his lips turn up ever so briefly. There, sitting atop wolfskin blankets on a small cot, was his little rabbit.

Yvette glanced up at him before nervously averting her eyes. Garbed only in the skirt, shoes, and blouse of her uniform, she certainly wasn’t as put-together as she’d been in Lilith. Her tie and vest had been lost sometime during her capture, and the knee-high socks had grown so filthy she hadn’t even hesitated when he ordered her to burn them. Her modest jewelry was gone, too, her only adornment a pair of heavy iron shackles around her ankles, their long chain anchoring her to the solid frame of the bed.

Terror, anxiety, guilt, and boredom had fought for dominance within her over the past few weeks. When she’d first been taken, she thought she’d been taken as a hostage, the soldiers hoping to ransom her to the Lilith Prime Minister, but that thought, along with any hope she’d had of seeing home again, had been dashed the moment Nidhogg had walked into her makeshift prison, dressed in a military uniform with a cold look in his eye unlike anything she’d ever seen. She was left with the crushing truth that the man she’d so admired was really a traitor willing to go against the Fate. How had she not seen even a hint of it coming? Was he that good an actor, or was she simply too stupid to notice? With all the time she’d spent alone in his tent, she’d had little else to do but analyze every moment she’d spent with him, desperately trying to figure out why she was here. It was torturous.

“I assume no one bothered you while I was away?” he asked coolly, cupping her chin and lifting her face, turning it this way and that to inspect her condition. Yvette had been brought to camp mere days before he’d arrived, his coup a failure but his plans still on track. She’d been kept in the prisoners’ tent, and few had so much as batted an eye, assuming she would be interrogated by the Colonel in due time. However, that caused some soldiers to grow bold. On a whim, Nidhogg had decided to visit her, only to find a pair of guards attempting to take liberties with his little bunny. The Colonel had dealt with them swiftly and mercilessly, in his rage hardly even feeling the sting of the blood curse. The aftermath had certainly enforced the soldiers’ mindset that their leader was not to be trifled with; even Ozeca had given him a wide berth for a few days. But that didn’t concern him, as he was too busy moving her into his personal quarters.

“No, Pri—no, sir,” she whispered, heart nearly stopping as she caught herself.

He gave her the mercy of ignoring her slip of the tongue, instead removing his cloak before kneeling to check the manacle’s intricate lock. “And there were no foolish jailbreak attempts?”

A head shake was all he got, but he grinned mirthlessly. He’d been mildly impressed when she’d managed to pick the lock with a sewing needle she’d hidden in her sleeve the first time; it was far from ingenious, but he was surprised his meek secretary had been bold enough to try. Then again, a spooked rabbit was quick to try to escape the jaws of a hungry wolf. There had been no consequences for her beyond installing a more complex lock and searching her for any other objects that could aid in another escape attempt.

The second time, he’d been less forgiving; she’d attempted to break off the padlock with a rock. She’d actually managed to damage it, forcing him to not only replace her restraints but increase security around his quarters. For the next few days he’d even cuffed her hands behind her back, but he’d ended that punishment as he felt she’d learned her lesson. Instead, he imposed random check-ins and nightly pat downs to ensure she thoroughly accepted her situation.

Pulling out an intricately shaped key from his trouser pocket, he unlocked her shackles, rubbing his thumb along the visible indents they had left on her skin. “These are for your own good, Yvette,” he said. “The North is no place for someone as frail as you. The wilds are merciless, and every soldier in the country is eager to make a name for themselves by eliminating our enemies.”

“Perhaps…it’s best to return me to Lilith, then,” she whispered.

Again he grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. “You think I’m unable to protect you?”

“Ah…no, that’s not what I meant…”

“I know what you meant, and the answer should be obvious. I didn’t take the trouble of bringing you all the way here just to send you back to those insufferable weaklings.”

A burning desire to ask why he _did_ bring her was quickly squashed down before it could slip past her lips. She’d already asked several times, and each answer was more vague and harsher than the last, a clear sign that Nidhogg had no intention of enlightening her until he found it beneficial to _him_.

Getting to his feet, he gave her a stern look. Mechanically, Yvette stood, holding her arms out to her sides and keeping her eyes on his boots.

Slowly, methodically, Nidhogg felt along the tattered cuffs of her blouse, hands steadily making their way up her arms to her trembling shoulders. Warm breath brushed her cheeks as he carefully inspected her shirt collar. He was pleased to find no needles or bobby pins tucked away in the seams; his bunny was cleverer than he’d given her credit for, and he did not intend to make the same mistake twice.

Meanwhile, Yvette had to concentrate on not blushing or flinching away. She hated these searches; not just because of the invasion of her personal space, but because he was so unpredictable. Some days he was businesslike and efficient, treating her like an inanimate object; touching her impersonally and getting it over with quickly. Others, there was a barely-restrained aggression, gripping her a little too tightly and inspecting every inch of her like he was eager for an excuse to punish her. The worst days, though, were ones like these; inspection thorough but gentle, touches at times almost a caress, taking his time and warm hands often brushing against the bare skin of her neck and thighs. It reminded her of the teasing he’d indulged in back in Lilith, when just a few words, a sideways glance, and the briefest touch could turn her into a shivering mess, confusing her with his intentions while feeding the fire to her hidden fantasies.

Unfortunately, this seemed to be one of those days.

Large, powerful hands wrapped around the secretary’s waist, stroking up the sides before patting along her back. The sharp bumps of her ribs made him visibly frown. “Have you been eating properly?”

“Y-yes,” she stuttered.

“I know you’re lying. I’ll be most cross if you force me to step away from my duties just to supervise your meals.”

Swallowing thickly, she nodded, knowing it wasn’t an empty threat and he’d certainly come up with some creative way to punish her for the disobedience.

Next, he stroked her chest, feeling for anything that might be hidden in the cream ruffles. A chuckle nearly escaped him when her sharp intake of breath reached his ears. The nightly pat-downs were meant as a punishment, a means to control her, but he’d admit only to himself that he enjoyed this new aspect of her imprisonment. Not only did it keep his little bunny in line, but it gave him an excellent excuse to caress her soft curves. Teasing her had always been his not-so-secret pleasure during his performance as the Lilith Prime Minister, but it had been as far as he’d allowed himself to go at the time. A cute little plaything like her could easily become a dangerous distraction, and his mission would not be deterred.

Now, with his goals firmly on track, he had an excuse to run his hands along her petite, frail body. In fact, she was now a welcome diversion; a nightly means to take his mind off battle plans and experiments and training. This was both his reward for a job well done, and a new, delicious test of his control. Each night tempted him to go a little further, to indulge in the prize he’d claimed. Squeezing her hips and trailing his fingers along her lower back, he imagined what kind of sounds she’d make if there weren’t those few, thin layers of fabric between them. In his darker moments, he considered demanding a strip-search or putting a collar and leash around her pale neck. He’d threatened her with it after the second escape attempt, enjoying the way his modest assistant had gasped and pleaded with him not to go that far. Her weakness called to the predator in him, and she would never truly realize how close she was to being devoured.

Carding his gloved fingers through the strands of her short, bobbed hair, he tugged lightly, forcing her to look up at him. “Your clothes are wearing thin,” he said matter-of-factly, brown eyes practically boring into her grey ones. “I’ve been putting together something more appropriate for you to wear.”

Despite his desire to rid Miraland of these ridiculous style battles, that didn’t mean he didn’t still enjoy designing. Creating a garment came naturally to his meticulous, detail-oriented mind. He could already picture Yvette in a long, black, velvet coat, the cuffs and collar lined with soft, white rabbit fur. Underneath would be a tight, long-sleeved shirt paired with the Love Lock necklace. She was so soft and frail, she needed something to protect her from the elements, but the necklace would make it clear to her every time she looked in the mirror what her place was.

She started to protest, but a single finger to her lips silenced her. It was both satisfying and sometimes disappointing how easily he could control her. She’d always been so biddable back when she was his secretary, sweet and eager to please. It had made life easier during his deception, but here in the North, where thousands of troops obeyed his every command, such compliance could grow tiresome.

Sometimes, he was tempted to “accidentally” drop the key to her shackles, to offer her the chance to run. It would be interesting to see if she’d simply quiver in the tent, too scared to risk punishment a third time, or if she’d eagerly take the opportunity, giving him the chance to hunt her down. His blood warmed at the thought, and it pleased him that he wasn’t quite certain how she’d respond.

He wouldn’t, though. Entertaining as it would be, a rabbit in the hand was worth two in the bush, and he was smart enough to know that if she did run, there was always a chance that he could lose her.

The finger trailed downward, over her chin, lightly settling over her pulse. He relished the way he could feel how hard and quick her heart was beating even through his glove. It reminded him of the rabbits he would catch for food as a starving orphan, how their hearts would pound at an almost dizzying speed before he snapped their necks.

Stepping back before he was tempted to find out if Yvette’s would break as easily, he sat down on his bed across from her, finally removing his hat and sword. The white streak in his dark bangs settled over his brown eyes, casting them in shadow. “I’m guessing you’re quite bored, having nothing to do all day. I’m certain all this leisure time is disconcerting compared to how hard I always worked you.”

Clearing her throat awkwardly, she tried to ignore the innuendo. It seemed that, despite the many changes he’d gone through, he still loved to tease her. How many times had he implied she’d worn a certain outfit to catch his eye? Or asked whether she considered their late nights working together dates? He’d certainly loved stirring up the rumors that flew about the office. “M…maybe a little.”

“Have you learned your lesson, that escape is futile?”

When she merely nodded, he narrowed his eyes sharply. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I…I’ve learned my lesson. I won’t try to run away again.”

Nodding, he opened up the bag he’d brought in. “Then I see no reason to deny you a few creature comforts.” He pulled a couple hardcover books, a few pencils, a book of sudoku puzzles, and a Rubik's cube. She tried to hide her eagerness at the puzzles; boredom was slowly driving her mad and having something to occupy her mind might just keep her from fretting over her misjudgment of her former boss.

The way her eyes lit up at the items didn’t escape Nidhogg’s notice, but he said nothing, simply tossing her a bundle of cloth before sitting back to watch her reaction.

Yvette fumbled with the item, unraveling slightly as she attempted to keep it from hitting the ground. The floor was spotless, as would be expected of a Colonel’s personal quarters, but she didn’t want to risk accidentally disrespecting him. Holding it up, she gasped in realization.

It was the black slip dress he’d once scolded her for wearing. It had been an incredibly bold departure from her normal attire; the neckline wasn’t immodest, but it showed more than her high-collared shirts did and left her arms completely bare. The hemline was where the trouble lay, barely going past mid-thigh, even on her petite form. She waited for him to produce a pair of stockings or even some modesty shorts, but he simply crossed his arms.

“You…want me to wear this?”

“I’m not in the habit of throwing random pieces of clothing at people, Yvette. Of course I mean for you to wear it.”

“But…” she stammered.

“Now that I don’t have to worry about other men lusting after you, I see no reason to object. It’s just the two of us in here, after all,” he replied, voice low and husky, the faintest glimmer in his eye.

“I’ll be cold,” she argued weakly, goosebumps that had nothing to do with the weather prickling her skin.

“If the tent becomes drafty, you can bundle up in the blankets. Unless you’d rather we share body heat?” The squeak that escaped her throat almost made him chuckle, and her scandalized expression was more than worth the trouble it had taken to procure the dress. “It’s only temporary. We’ll be moving to a new location within the week, and your new clothes will be finished by then. I have no wish to lose you due to exposure.”

“Perhaps I could keep on my normal attire until then,” she said meekly.

Nidhogg shook his head. “Consider it a precautionary measure to further dissuade you from trying to escape again. You wouldn’t have gotten far in your work attire, but in that, you won’t even make it past the mess tent.”

“I see,” she murmured, putting it on the bed with shaking hands. She’d change into it later. She wasn’t quite sure what he’d do if she refused to wear it, but she was certain it wouldn’t be pleasant. Her mind produced an image of him ripping off her suit with his bare hands, and she shivered at the thought.

Standing, he closed the two feet between them to run a finger along the frayed ruffles of her collar. “It also has fewer places for you to hide contraband. Unless, of course, you wish to continue our nightly pat-downs?”

“No, sir!”

“Then you’ll wear what I tell you.” The corner of his mouth lifted just the smallest bit. “You were never this disobedient in Lilith. You do realize how generous I’ve been, don’t you?”

“Generous?” she asked, the words spilling out of her mouth before her brain could stop them. “What have you done that’s generous?” Horrified, she clasped her hands over her mouth as if she could scope them back out of the air before they reached his ears.

Nidhogg’s expression remained stoic, but he found himself vaguely amused by her outburst. “Prisoners don’t get as many amenities as you have, Yvette. I’m providing you with clothes while most are left to endure the elements in tatters. I’ve granted you your own bed in my chambers when I could easily make you sleep on the floor. I’ve even spilled my own men’s blood to protect you.”

Her small body trembled even as her delicate hands clenched into fists, dropping to her sides despondently. “Yes, you did. And…I heard you killed Lunar of Cloud City, too.”

“She stood between me and my goals. I was left with no choice.”

The young secretary couldn’t stop the hot tears from welling up in her grey eyes. “How can you say that? We have style contests exactly because of that! Shedding blood—”

“—Is completely natural and separates the weak from the strong. These contests are a crutch, a way people too weak to lead have gained power while those more deserving must stand in their shadows. I’m saving this country from itself.”

Straight white teeth dug into the soft flesh of her lower lip, and Nidhogg found himself fascinated by it. Would she bite so hard she bled? Would it stain her lips like a gloss, or dribble down onto her blouse? What would it feel like against her lips if he were to lean down and claim them?

Since his first kill, he’d found blood fascinating. With so little violence in Miraland, seeing a person bleed was exceptionably rare.

And somehow, the idea of Yvette spilling blood, even her own, seemed both sacrilegious and unspeakably attractive.

There was a tense moment of silence before he said, “I can tell you’re thinking something. Say it.”

“I was wondering,” she whispered, “who will save Miraland from you?”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Who indeed? I suppose you’re the one in the best position to end me, aren’t you?” Pulling a small, shiny dagger out of his belt, he considered it thoughtfully. “Your chains are long enough to allow you free movement throughout the tent. I keep many weapons like this nearby. We sleep mere feet away from each other; you could easily slit my throat in the middle of the night, and I’d be helpless to stop you.”

She gasped, “I couldn’t—”

“Perhaps you could. It doesn’t take much, physically at least, to kill a man.” Stepping forward, he closed the distance between them, lightly pressing the tip of the knife against the soft flesh beneath her chin. “Humans are remarkably fragile. It takes just a little bit of pressure to break the skin. Just a bit more to cut through the muscles down to the bone. If you drove the knife through my eye, right into the brain, it’d be an even cleaner kill. Even a little thing like you could do it.”

“Ah…no…I couldn’t…”

“No? Not even to save Miraland?” He pulled the blade from her chin, instead resting the cold steel against her cheek, smirking a bit when she instinctively flinched away from its touch. His pulse quickened in anticipation. “The hardest part of killing really is the backlash. It takes intense mental and physical fortitude to endure it. A little rabbit like you would probably collapse from the pain. Not that you have the nerve for premediated murder.”

Swallowing audibly, she clutched the blankets beneath her like a lifeline. “I don’t.”

Quick and powerful as a wolf ambushing its prey, Nidhogg surged forward, knocking his dainty secretary back and pinning her to the bed, her small, fragile wrists easily engulfed in one hand. When she instinctively began struggling, he firmly held the knife to her jugular, cold eyes narrowing in scrutiny. “Then what about in self-defense?” he whispered harshly. “What would you do, Yvette, if I were to press this blade a little harder against your throat? Would you fight back? Try and kill me instead? Or would you lay there and let me take your pathetic life?”

Automatically, her response slipped from her mouth without her consent. “I…I’d let you kill me.”

He frowned, looking almost disappointed. “And why is that? Because you know you’d have no chance? Perhaps you’d get lucky.”

Trembling beneath him, she tried to keep calm, but it was difficult given the circumstances. Why had she said that, anyway? It was true, but that didn’t mean it was the smart thing to say.

His expectant stare informed her that it wasn’t a rhetorical question, and she found herself scrambling to come up with an answer. Killing was just _wrong_. But how do you explain that to a man willing to do whatever it took to claim power? Swallowing, she whimpered, “Ah…I couldn’t live with myself…if I killed you.”

“Because you care about me? Or the man you thought I was? Perhaps you think I can be redeemed, that you could show me the error of my ways,” he scoffed, eyes leaving her pretty face to focus on her neck. The edge of the blade pressed a little harder against her jugular, breaking the delicate skin just enough for a thin line of blood to swell to the surface.

Mild pain prickled in his chest the moment the ruby liquid appeared, but he easily pushed it aside. There were so many more interesting things to focus on than the Blood Curse. Like the way Yvette’s chest rose and fell beneath her modest blouse. The Colonel could feel the tendons in her arms tighten in his grasp as she fisted her hands, clearly torn between fight or flight. He briefly wondered if she was more intimidated by the knife, or by how close they were. Heat permeated through their clothes, and in the struggle he’d wedged one of his knees between her legs, causing her pencil skirt to ride up and display the smooth, pale skin of her upper thigh.

In the end, what captured his attention was the way ruby droplets trailed down the sides of her throat, creating a sort of macabre collar. His nostrils flared at the copper scent, tempting him to close those few inches and run his tongue along it.

Tears trickled from her eyes. It had been a forgone conclusion, but Yvette knew he was irredeemable. He’d used her, killed Lunar, and intended to plunge the world into war. Though her mind had accepted it, her irrational heart still clung to the image of the man he’d pretended to be.

It made her try to reason with him, hoping that he was at least still a man, not a monster. Sucking in a deep breath, even though the action pressed the knife a fraction deeper into the shallow wound, she forced herself to speak. Digging deep, she desperately searched for words that might get through to him. Finally, she stated, “Killing is cowardly.”

Attention once again fully on her face, Yvette shivered under the weight of his stare. “If…if you kill someone, they can’t challenge you again. There’s no chance they’d ever become strong enough to beat you. If…if you’re willing to kill your opponent, it sounds like…well, on some level, you’re afraid of that happening.” Swallowing, she faltered, losing her composure as the Colonel adjusted his position to loom over her, stoic brown boring into innocent grey.

“I’d call that more pragmatic than cowardly,” he replied nonchalantly. Pulling the knife from her throat, he instead stabbed it into the mattress right beside her head, smirking again when she gasped and flinched away. Hand free, he grasped her chin, pulling her face up so their breath mingled. “I could kill you, Yvette, make no mistake. I had you brought here on a whim. I hired you because I thought you might prove to be of some small use. But you have no real purpose. Your life is in my hands, and I’m perfectly willing to snuff it out should you inconvenience me.”

“The blood curse—”

“Would make it painful, yes. That’s why I’d rather avoid killing you unless necessary. But war goes hand-in-hand with pain. If you can’t endure it, you don’t deserve to survive. And sacrifices must be made for the sake of victory. Do you understand?”

At his heartless words, Yvette saw her life flash before her eyes. The precious moments she’s had growing up. All the times she’d cried over silly things as a child, and how her parents would comfort her, saying she was stronger than she thought.

She remembered her interview with the Prime Minister, which she never thought she’d get through, only to be offered a position by his side the next day. The many hours they’d worked together, organizing events and ensuring the Queen’s duties were taken care of so she could focus on her health. Stepping into her modern business attire that first time, she finally felt like she wasn’t a little crying girl anymore.

All the times Nidhogg had teased her danced across her mind. The time she’d met Officer Orlando and the frown her boss had given when she’d expressed her admiration. The many times he’d led her away from Prince Royce when he’d flirted with her, large, warm hand securely placed on her lower back. She’d felt so secure in his presence, blushing at his words even as she secretly thrilled at being the center of his attention.

Warmth filled her at the memory of Nikki and her friends. She’d lost horribly to the pink-haired girl in that first styling contest, but she’d been so sweet, greeting her as a friend afterward. That girl was the epitome of what Miraland stood for; radiating peace and kindness, solving disputes in a way that wouldn’t harm others, winning gracefully and encouraging those around her to be better.

Finally, she recalled the dried blood on Nidhogg’s uniform when he’d first stepped into her prison. The cold, unfamiliar hardness in his eyes. The slight wince that crossed his face as fresh blood splattered across his coat when he’d saved her before smoothing into a stoic mask again.

An unfamiliar wave of resolve poured from her heart into her veins. Pulling together every scrap of courage she had, she replied, “I think you’re afraid.”

His eyes widened a fraction, but she knew that for him, that was practically staring agape. After a moment of stunned silence, he said, “Afraid? Of a little thing like you?”

“Of showing weakness. The backlash affects you, and you can’t hide it forever. If you keep killing, it’s going to get worse and worse. It’ll impair your control, distract you, and it could cause you to make a crucial mistake. One that someone will take advantage of.”

“And you think your death will be the one to do that?” he asked, a slight but curious arch to his eyebrow.

“No, but…but if it contributes, in some way, to Nikki or Lady Kimi or Officer Orlando stopping you, then I’ll be satisfied.” Remembering the good people fighting for Miraland, for peace, gave her hope. Nidhogg would be stopped, one way or another, so long as there were stylists willing to stand up to him. There was a proud tilt to her chin as she stated, “So no, I won’t kill you. You’re already killing yourself.”

“Yvette…” A dark grin twisted Nidhogg’s face, startling the trapped secretary. “Who knew my little rabbit had teeth?” With that, his lips crashed against hers, ravaging her mouth, giving no quarter and greedily taking what he’d denied himself. She resisted, trying to pull back, but Nidhogg refused to give up his power.

Her lips were softer than any silk he’d ever worked with, smooth as the skin of a plum and twice as sweet. Tracing along the tight seam of her mouth, he demanded entrance, but she held firm, refusing his unspoken order. Nidhogg found himself oddly thrilled by it; he’d never imagined she’d have the nerve to resist him.

When the oxygen in his lungs began to run out, he released her lips, meeting her shocked eyes as he pulled the glove off his free hand with his teeth. Unable to resist any longer, his hot hand slid beneath her blouse, indulging in the heady sensation of skin-on-skin while his mouth focused on sucking and biting along the pale column of her throat, decorating it with bright red marks as she trembled and whimpered beneath him.

“S—stop,” she whimpered, turning away. “I don’t want this.”

“You’ve always wanted this,” he growled seductively, tongue lapping up the last traces of blood on her skin while the rough pads of his fingers traced along the underside of her small, lily-soft breasts. A shiver rolled down his spine at the taste; of course it tasted coppery and metallic, but it was such a forbidden flavor, especially from her, that it was dangerously close to sending that last scraps of his control into a tailspin. “You know how persuasive I can be, just as I know how susceptible you are to my advances.”

She hated that he wasn’t wrong. As much as her mind screamed that he was a murderer, a monster, his hands were warm and sure, his mouth hot and coaxing. Her body sang to his tune, and her broken heart ached for the man he’d once pretended to be, drowning out and betraying her rational thoughts. Her mouth and her mind were still allied, though. “I know what you are now,” she cried, back arching. “I won’t let you fool me anymore.”

Sitting up, Nidhogg released her wrists only to grab her hips, forcing her to straddle his lap. Looking down at her, it was amusing how the top of her head only reached the tip of his nose. She was so small and helpless. “I don’t need to fool you. Your body responds eagerly enough to my touch, even though you know my hands are stained with blood.” To prove his point, his bare hand gently stroked the exposed skin of her inner thigh, palm hot as a brand while his fingers caressed the sensitive flesh, relishing the way she instinctively bucked against him in pleasure.

Fear and shame pinched her face as she trembled with desire against him, hands unable to do more than grip the lapels of his uniform. “Please…”

“So long as you’re too weak to take your freedom by force, you’re mine to do with as I will. If it’s any consolation, you were right about one thing.” Bending his neck so his lips caressed her ear as he spoke, he whispered, “Killing you would serve no purpose but to provide my enemies with an opening. So, instead, I’m going to keep you close. Keep you safe. And I’m going to enjoy watching you either bend to my will or break your resolve.”

“What do you mean?”

In leu of a response, he pulled her in for another deep kiss, this one slow and deliberate, tongue and lips coaxing hers to succumb. By some miracle she managed to resist, but she couldn’t suppress the heated flush that spread across her cheeks or the way her thighs clenched when his hips rolled sensually against her core. A whimper, somehow both frightened and needy, escaped her throat, and that encouraged Nidhogg to give her bottom lip a light nip, making it tingle slightly with an unfamiliar sensation.

When he pulled away, there was a wolfish grin on his face. “I’d suggest you change your clothes quickly; I’ll be having my troops remove your cot.”

Gasping for breath, she exclaimed, “What?”

Gripping the handle of the knife, he ripped it through the mattress, tearing a jagged hole. “It’s ruined, and I see no reason for two beds to take up space when we can easily share one.”

“I don’t—”

Looking down at her, he gave her a teasing smile, so like the ones he’d given back in Lilith if it weren’t for the frightening and heated glimmer in his eyes. “You were worried about being cold, weren’t you? And this way I can ensure you won’t try to run away in the middle of the night. Or, if you ever change your mind, you’ll have the perfect opportunity to kill me.”

“Ah…I already told you…I won’t...”

“Then you have no power to stop me. Someday, you’ll accept that real power must be taken.” Hooking an arm beneath her pert bottom, he stood, lifting her effortlessly before dumping her onto his bed. Chuckling at her undignified squeak, he caged her in, murmuring, “In the meantime, I think I’ll enjoy playing with my cute little pet.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% happy with how this turned out, but it's really hard to write for a pair of characters when one's whole personality is proven to be fake and the other only gets so much screentime.
> 
> Love Nikki had better tell us what happened to Yvette soon.


End file.
